


Ten Years

by fangirlingtodeath513



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 10 Years of Castiel, 10 Years of DeanCas, 10 Years of Destiel, DeanCasVersary, M/M, Mentions of Michael!Dean, they talk!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 20:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16025738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlingtodeath513/pseuds/fangirlingtodeath513
Summary: Michael's nowhere to be found, and Dean's in a dusty warehouse in Alabama with a phone full of messages and none of his family answering his calls.





	Ten Years

He wakes up alone in a dark, musty warehouse. He doesn’t remember how he got here, or what he was doing, but one thing he does know: Michael’s gone. He doesn’t recall expelling him, or Michael leaving voluntarily--unlikely, if he’s being honest with himself--but he knows the angel is no longer possessing him. 

 

The first move he makes is to get off the floor. It’s so much more effort than he’s used to. Everything in his body aches and his head is pounding like he’d drank an entire bar the previous night. He dusts himself off slowly, looking at his surroundings. There’s not much to make out. There’s dust swirling through the air and a fair amount of sunlight coming in from windows set high in the walls, so it’s either late morning or late afternoon. It’s not too cold or too hot, so he figures it’s probably late summer or early fall, depending on where he is. 

 

He’s been away for so long. 

 

The second move is to get the hell out of this place. He doesn’t know how long he’s been in this warehouse or how long he’s been back in control of his body. There’s a door at the other end of the warehouse, nestled between stacks of boxes, so he heads that way. It’s not locked, but it only leads him into an office with no other way out. Backtracking, he searches the warehouse again. Sure enough, hidden behind a line of shelves, there’s an emergency exit door. It’s alarmed, but that’s not something he has time to worry about right now.

 

He shoulders the door open, letting out a swift breath as he’s met with the brightness of the outside. Covering his eyes quickly, he peeks through his fingers to give his eyes time to adjust. After a few minutes, he surveys the area. There’s a gas station across the street with a few people lingering outside and two cars getting gas. He heads that way, huffing softly as he feels much more fabric swishing than he’s used to. Stupid Michael and his weird angel getup. 

 

Water is the first thing he reaches for. He’s dehydrated, and he barely gets the cap off before drinking the whole bottle in five seconds flat. That earns him a weary look from the cashier, so he offers her as kind a smile as he can manage at the moment.

 

He checks his pockets, relief flooding through him when he finds a neatly-folded wad of cash. He grabs two more water bottles from the cooler before heading down the closest aisle. He grabs nearly everything in sight: candy bars, more bags of chips than he probably needs, beef jerky, and a few power bars, just to be on the safe side. He doesn’t know how far he is from home.

 

There’s no one else in the store, so his bounty is deposited on the counter as he counts out his money. He’s got over five hundred dollars here, way more than he normally carries with him. He briefly wonders what Michael was doing with the cash, but the cashier is reading out his total so he scrambles to get the right amount out, sliding it across the counter. At the last second, he spies a newspaper rack. 

 

“Hey, can you tell me which of those is the local newspaper?” His voice is gravelly and his throat scratches as he talks. It’s clearly been a while since his vocal chords have been used. 

 

The girl winces at the raspiness of his voice, pointing out the local newspaper. It’s not one of the fanciest he’s seen--must be a small town. He grabs one, tossing it on top of his pile and handing her another five.

 

With his change safely tucked away and two plastic bags looped around his arms, he walks around the surrounding area. He’s clearly in the middle of a town--more stop signs than stoplights, and more parks than buildings--which could be good for him. Might be easier to find a way home this way. 

 

He settles onto a park bench, shrugging Michael’s stupid coat off and tossing it over the back of the bench. He rolls the sleeves of the dress shirt up as he sits, pulling a couple bags of chips and another water bottle from one of the bags. He digs through his pockets as he eats, laying out everything he finds. His wallet--nice of Michael to leave that for him, he supposes--the money he’d found before, a scrap of paper with something scribbled on it, and his phone. Attempting to turn it on yields no results, so his next course of action is a phone charger. He finds an electronics store a few minutes down the road where the owner hooks him up with a charger and even lets him stay to charge it for a while. 

 

While he waits, he grabs the newspaper and flips it open. It’s the newspaper for Sawyerville, Alabama, and it’s dated September 16, 2018.

 

He’s been gone a hundred and twenty two days. 

 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there staring at the newspaper. It’s shock, the logical part of his brain knows that. It had never crossed his mind that he’d been gone  _ that _ long.  

 

The buzzing of his phone finally drags him back to reality. It’s not the buzzing of the phone turning on--that had happened a while ago, though he’d missed that in his shock--but rather the buzzing of his phone finally receiving texts and voicemails after being off for so long. 

 

By the time it finally stops buzzing, the screen tells him he has sixteen missed text messages and a hundred and twenty five voicemails. His phone doesn’t have enough memory to load every single one in. Stowing his paper, he pulls up Sam’s contact and presses call. It rings three times before informing him that the line is no longer in use. He tries Cas, but it just rings and rings with no answer. He thinks about leaving a message, but he doesn’t really see the point. He’ll just go home. With a sigh, he starts going through the texts and voicemails.

 

The texts are generic. Sam wondering if Michael’s fully in control, Castiel asking what the hell happened, and texts from Mary and Jody, undoubtedly before they found out what happened. He’s got a few frantic texts from Claire as well, but racking his brain doesn’t bring up anything related to what her texts say. Weird. 

 

All of the voicemails are from Castiel, with the exception of three. One is from Sam, shortly after Michael had taken control. With shaking hands, he pushes the play button and brings the phone to his ear. 

 

“ _ I know you won’t get this until you’re you again, and I’m hoping that happens with me and Cas there, but if it doesn’t… we’re gonna bring you home, Dean. Michael’s toast. I swear. Call me as soon as you get this, okay? I’ll come get you, wherever you are. _ ”

 

It’s about what he’d expected. Sam was always the more hopeful of the two of them. He calls Sam’s backup phone, but still no answer.

 

He needs a car. He grabs his bags, thanking the store owner as he heads out with his charged phone. He spies a store parking lot, shaking his head minisculely. Too many eyes. 

 

He wanders on for half an hour before he comes across a fairly deserted area. There’s an older car there, one that’s easy enough to get into and hotwire. He’s out of the parking lot in five minutes, driving in the direction of the bunker. 

 

Three hours is all he can manage before he nearly falls asleep at the wheel and forces himself to pull off at a motel. Checking into a room, he grabs a pizza for dinner and flicks through the voicemails. The second is from Mary, asking where he is. It’s shortly after the call from Sam, so it must be before she heard. She doesn’t sound worried.

 

The third voicemail is from Claire. She’s frantic, muffled despite nearly shouting, and the voicemail cuts out halfway through. He has to listen to it three times before he manages to make out her message.

 

“ _ Dean, seriously, this isn’t the time to ignore me! Please! Kaia’s back and I’ve done all the tests and nothing happened. It can’t be her, right? _ ”

 

Kaia’s back? That’s… a problem for when he gets home. Right now, he needs to sleep.

 

■ ■

 

For once, it’s the sound of birds chirping that wakes him the next morning. It’s later than he’d intended to sleep, but he feels more refreshed than he has in… well, ever. A glance of his phone shows that it’s only ten in the morning, plenty of time to get back to the bunker if he can drive the remaining twelve hours straight. He steals a different car, just in case, before getting back on the road.

 

It’s a long drive, and he doesn’t have the stamina he used to. Frankly, he’s still exhausted from Michael’s possession, and a shitty motel bed certainly didn’t help. He stops for food when he gets to Jonesboro and stops for gas a few hours later. He makes it all the way to Kansas City before he finally forces himself to find a motel. He’s exhausted and hungry and, though he’d much rather be home, he can’t push himself four more hours to get there.

 

He checks into a motel before walking to the diner across the street. It’s eighties themed and kind of cheesy, but he’s hungry enough that he doesn’t care. He tries both Sam and Cas again, but neither answers. It’s more than a little concerning, but he’ll be home tomorrow and he can find out why they’re not answering then.

 

In the meantime, he switches over to his voicemail. He’s still got a hundred and twenty two voicemails from Cas he should get through. Of the ones he can see, none are longer than a minute. He’s curious what the content is, so he settles back against the bench seat and hits play on the first one.

 

_ “Hello, Dean. Sam told me what happened, though I’d already suspected. I… hope you’re okay. We’ll bring you back.” _

 

He frowns, playing the next one.

 

_ “Jack’s struggling with the loss of his powers, and Sam’s beside himself trying to find any trace of Michael. I hope you’re holding up okay.” _

 

It’s… unusual. The messages don’t seem to have a purpose, but he plays the next one anyway.

 

_ “Mary’s staying in the bunker and chasing down every lead with Sam. I’m a bit jealous, if I’m being honest. I’d like to be there for you when they find you, but I know Jack needs me. I’ll see you soon, Dean.” _

 

The rest of the messages are all similar. None of the seem to have any reason behind them, but he appreciates the glimpse into life at the bunker while he was away. 

 

He tosses money on the table when he finishes, crossing the street back to the motel. He’s been in these clothes for far too long, so the opportunity to take a shower is what calls to him at the moment. He leaves his phone on the bed as he strips Michael’s stupid outfit off, heading into the bathroom. 

 

The last three voicemails are what he listens to when he finally tucks himself into bed. The first is similar to the previous ones: Sam and Mary are chasing down a lead and Jack is adapting to the hunting lifestyle despite a few difficulties. 

 

Expecting a similar message, he presses play on the hundred and twenty first voicemail.

 

_ “I miss you, Dean.” _

 

It’s the shortest message yet, and all the air leaves Dean’s lungs like he’s been punched in the gut. The raw emotion in Castiel’s voice, something Dean hardly ever hears, nearly breaks him. He hates that  _ he’s _ the reason Cas is hurting.

 

The final voicemail is worse, and by far the longest at nearly three minutes.

 

_ “I won’t be calling for a few days. Sam, Mary and Jack left on a hunt and I need a few days to myself. It’s… In a few days, it’ll mark the tenth anniversary of when I pulled you from Hell. I know that’s not a fond memory for you, but… it’s where everything changed for me.” _ There’s a pause before Cas continues,  _ “I’m still shocked it’s been a decade. It may seem like an insignificant frame of time for an angel but… these past ten years have meant everything to me, Dean. I’m sorry I can’t tell you this in person, but I hope you’ll be home soon so I can. I… I love you. I have since the moment I held your soul in my arms in Hell.” _

 

The voicemail ends abruptly, and Dean’s pretty sure he’s forgotten how to breathe. He’s suspected for a while that Cas’s feelings for him had grown into something more than friendship, but since  _ Hell _ ? 

 

He’s curious why Castiel hasn’t called him the last couple of days, as well as why he didn’t go on the hunt with Mary, Sam and Jack. He saves that voicemail, setting his phone on the nightstand as he pulls the comforter over himself. 

 

It takes a little more than an hour for him to fall asleep. He’s distracted by Castiel’s confession and his worry about Sam, Mary and Jack, but ultimately exhaustion overtakes him. 

 

■ ■

 

The first thing he does when he wakes up is try both Sam and Cas’s phones. Again, neither answers, so he even tries Mary--no answer. With a sigh, he grabs a quick breakfast before getting back on the road.

It takes him four and a half hours to get back to the bunker. He has to ditch the stolen car in town, so he hikes the rest of the way to the bunker. Michael’s shoes are uncomfortable, and he ends up shrugging the stupid coat off halfway through, but he eventually makes it.

Nothing’s changed. He’s not entirely sure he expected anything to change, but it looks the exact same as the night he’d left. After a moment’s hesitation, he pushes himself forward. He tries the main door--locked, which isn’t a surprise--before circling around to the garage. It’s easy enough to wedge open and slide under the door. It bangs shut behind him and, in the eerie silence of the bunker’s garage, it’s aggressively loud. 

The first thing he does is drop Michael’s stupid coat on one of the benches. The hat, vest and tie follow, leaving him in dress pants and a crisp, white shirt. He releases the button on each sleeve as he heads deeper into the bunker, folding the sleeves up until they’re resting above his elbows. 

A quick look through the war room and library doesn’t give him any hints as to where Castiel might be, so he decides to table that search so he can go change into some of his own clothes. After that, he’ll worry about getting ahold of Sam and Mary. 

The walk to his room is the quietest it’s ever been. His footsteps echo down the length of the hallway, and a chill settles into his bones. With a small shudder, he pushes his bedroom door open and steps inside, heading straight for his dresser. He shrugs the dress shirt off quickly, tugging on one of his Henleys as he searches through one of the lower drawers for a pair of sweatpants. 

He doesn’t notice the other person in the room until he catches a slight movement in the corner of his eye. He drops the sweatpants he’s found, grabbing the pistol hidden in his top drawer as he turns to face whoever it is.

Sitting on his bed, staring wearily at him, is Cas. With a shaky breath, Dean lowers the pistol, ultimately setting it on top of the dresser as he stoops to pick up his hastily dropped sweatpants. 

“Jesus, Cas, you scared the hell outta me.” 

Castiel continues staring at him, which is more unnerving than it usually is. 

“Cas? You alright, buddy?”

Seeming to shake himself out of his stupor, Cas pushes himself up off the bed, cautiously stepping closer to Dean. “Is it… Are you really you? What about Michael?” 

Cas’s hand reaches up, his fingers tracing Dean’s cheek gently. It’s a little more intimate than Dean’s ready for at the moment, so he leans his head away and clears his throat. “I’m not sure. I woke up in a warehouse in Alabama. I have no clue how long I was there or when Michael left. I don’t remember… much of anything, really. Just snippets.”

Cas’s hand drops to his side as Dean leans away from it. “I’m not surprised. He likely kept you buried deep in your own mind. Uh, I’ll…” Cas glances down at the sweatpants Dean’s still holding, motioning to the bedroom door. Dean waits, but Cas doesn’t move, just stands there and stares at him. 

“Is there… something else?” Dean asks quietly, though he thinks he already knows the answer. 

Cas hesitates for a moment, seemingly wavering between saying what he wants and keeping it to himself. He must decide the latter, because he shakes his head and turns to leave the room. 

Dean’s had enough of this, frankly. He’s tired of the deathbed confessions they don’t talk about, and he’s  _ more _ than tired of pretending. He catches Cas’s wrist as the angel turns, gently pulling him back. “Cas, hang on. I… I got your voicemails.”

Castiel’s eyes meet his for a second before dropping down to stare at the ground. Not exactly the reaction he expected. “I apologize. I didn’t… I never meant for you to find out.”

Dean frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why? You’ve said it before.”

Castiel smiles, but it looks bitter from where Dean’s standing. “You made it very clear then that you didn’t reciprocate.”

His frown deepens. Does Cas really think his feelings are one-sided? Wow. He’s an even worse friend than he’d thought. “Cas, I  _ do _ . I’m just an idiot. I was so afraid of people knowing and then judging me for it.”

Castiel finally looks at him, and the disbelief in his eyes makes Dean take a step closer and smile softly. 

“I’m serious, Cas. I feel the same way. I just… I’m done hiding. If people are gonna judge, then they’re gonna judge. Nothin’ I can do about it.”

He waits for the angel to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, Dean gets an armful as Cas pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. He chuckles softly, wrapping his arms just as tightly around Cas. 

“I’m glad you’re back, Dean.” It’s quiet and mumbled against his neck, but he understands it nonetheless. He squeezes Cas briefly before pulling away and cupping his jaw.

He’s been dreaming about this for years, if he’s being honest with himself. However, it’s not Dean who makes the first move. Before the thought to kiss him could even cross Dean’s mind, Cas is surging forward and kissing him. It’s a little hard and long overdue, but it’s perfect. For the first time in a long time, the world melts away and the only thing he can make sense of is Cas. 

When they pull away seconds later, Cas is grinning wider than Dean’s ever seen. It lifts a weight off Dean’s shoulders, especially knowing he’s the one that caused it. 

Before they can get any further, the bunker’s main door clangs open. He follows Cas to the main room, smiling warily at Sam, Mary and Jack. None of them believe it’s him, which doesn’t surprise Dean in the slightest. He wouldn’t really believe it if he was in their position either. After a face full of holy water, a cut with Sam’s silver knife, and a splash of Borax solution, he’s pulled into a hug with each of them. They’ve got a million questions he doesn’t have the answers for, but their hunger trumps asking him questions. The five of them head to the kitchen, Dean and Cas trailing behind slightly. 

With a grin, Dean catches the angel’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Hey, happy anniversary.” 

Cas’s answering smile is like pure sunshine, and he’s rewarded with a gentle kiss. It earns them a look from Mary, Sam and Jack, but they’ve got time to explain everything. Right now, he just wants to bask in this feeling. He’s home, everyone’s safe, and he and Cas have finally figured their shit out. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this, but he send a silent thank-you to whoever’s listening, sliding into the seat next to Cas to catch up with his family. 

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable link here](https://fangirlingtodeath513.tumblr.com/post/178220182469/ten-years-a-deancasversary-fic-read-here-on-ao3)
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>  You can find me on Tumblr [here(:](https://fangirlingtodeath513.tumblr.com/)  
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> **Please don’t post my works anywhere without my express written permission.**


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